


Nocturne

by IseliaDragonwill



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood, Blow Jobs, Dark, Grotesque Imagery, Guilt, Horror, Intoxication, M/M, Mental Instability, Noctis isn't coping well, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 19:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13818312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IseliaDragonwill/pseuds/IseliaDragonwill
Summary: "...The tides burst through the window again, pulling him down with the current, and all Noctis could bear to think was how he selfishly wanted Ignis to be waiting down below, to ever be that soft place he landed after the fall."Noctis tries to reconcile his guilt after his battle with the Leviathan, but time does not heal all wounds...





	Nocturne

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic that I've edited and reposted. This one...I'll just say I have a lot of feelings about it. The first time I put it up, it kind of went under the radar for the most part. Some people may recognize it, but most probably won't.
> 
> The title comes from this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gfgVWyjHkCo. It's also referenced in the fic, so throw on those tunes if you feel so inclined!
> 
> A warning upfront...I promise that everything was done for a reason, including characterization. Without giving too much away, just read to the end before forming opinions. 
> 
> More notes at the end. Comments and kudos are love. <3

Noctis had lost track of how much time had passed since the battle with Leviathan. Minutes, hours, days all ran together and stood still; the only evidence of their passing heard in the ticking of the grandfather clock in the room. His friends kept telling him that he should sleep–regain his strength and let his body heal–but even he was starting to tire of it. Life for him now was fleeting moments of clarity between restless slumber and surreal periods of wakefulness.

One day in an endless string of days, Gladio had picked him up from under the arms and hauled him out of bed, setting him down on legs wobbly from disuse. His toes dug into the plush carpet. “C’mon, we’re heading into town to take a break. We all could use one.”

Far be it from Noctis to argue. The room where he was staying had grown past the point of being oppressive and now bordered on maddening. If he had to stare at those same carpeted floors or filigreed etchings on the walls for much longer, he was going to lose his mind. That room only reminded him of everything he had lost. Leaving it was a relief, a denial of reality.

He passed the blood-red armchair as leaden feet carried him to the door.

Bandages, rusty red and filled with the stench of something rotting. A pale hand he didn't recognize, gripping bedsheets as the knuckles somehow became impossibly whiter. Sounds of breaking glass as the windows shattered; the gentle streams of light that filtered through overtaken by a torrent of rushing, murky water. He couldn't see. He couldn't breathe!

“Hey!” 

A large hand on each of his shoulders brought him back to that room again. Gladio was peering into his eyes, trying his damnedest to dig through the cloudy blue and uncover just what it was that Noctis had witnessed.

“I'm fine…” He muttered under his breath. With a weak shove, Noctis pushed Gladio aside and strode past him. “Let's just go. I need to get out of here.”

 

Noctis wasn't sure what to make of the place Gladio had brought him to. The walls were dark wood, adorned with lamps that burned from an oil that never seemed to run dry. Across from the small, but well-stocked bar was a dimly-lit stage and upon it, a large piano. There was a man playing something that piqued Noctis's curiosity, though he was unsure if it was the melody or the familiar curve of spine that captured his attention.

His tongue traced up the line of that spine as the skin dimpled and split along the lingering trails of saliva, revealing ivory bone underneath. 

He blinked the image away with a sharp intake of breath. Still, the scent of blood hung over him like the haze of the sun on a hot summer's day; the kind that would turn his throat to dust and leave him feverish and weak for even a drop of water to quench his thirst. Except Noctis noticed in horror that the thirst hadn't settled scratchy and dry in his throat, but coiling and hot in his groin. 

Tearing his eyes from the piano player, he headed for the bar as quickly as he could, dropping himself into one of the barstools and hunching his shoulders forward. The bartender raised an eyebrow at his newest customer, wondering for a moment if he should serve the man in front of him or send him away. There was a wild look in his eyes, like a caged animal that saw the impending slaughter. Before he had a chance to debate the matter further, he saw his potential patron being hauled off by a larger, muscled man, wearing naught but a jacket and scars on his body.

Gladio yanked one of the chairs out from the table and plunked Noctis into it with enough force to send a shock through his tailbone and lower back. “What’s gotten into you?”

Noctis had no idea how to answer. Gladio would never believe the things he saw. Or worse, if he did, it would just be more proof to add to his long list of reasons why Noctis wasn’t fit to be a king, forever the boy prince that drew his scorn. So, he simply shrugged and tried to put on a mask of indifference.

“Stay there. I know I probably shouldn’t, but what do you want to drink?” He growled, crossing his arms over his chest. 

His question went unanswered. Noctis was too busy staring at the pile of skulls at the piano player’s feet. Large black birds hopped this way and that, every so often poking their sharp beaks into the empty eye sockets, searching for something that Noctis had only just begun to fathom. Their dark, beady eyes belied a truth he knew would terrify him, though he was not yet able to piece together the reason why. 

Gladio returned and placed a drink on the table in front of Noctis, who hadn't even realized the Shield had left. It was red and stank of sweet syrup. Inside, a cherry was suspended in the liquid, stabbed through with a plastic sword. Noctis pulled it out and examined it, watching as the sanguine drops slid around the shape of the fruit, dripping slow and heavy into the glass. Something familiar clawed at the edges of his mind and brought with it a sense of overwhelming dread, but Noctis couldn't find it in himself to look away.

It was the soft music floating through the air that finally captured Noctis’s attention, bringing with it a moment of respite from the disturbances that had hounded him since waking. The sound was dreamlike, but somehow foreboding. Noctis couldn't help but wonder if it had been written as a spell to lay claim on weary minds with its unassuming melody. He wished he had paid more attention to his studies so that he could identify it. Ignis would have known. Ignis always knew things like this. Noctis’s heart swelled near to bursting at the thought of his Advisor, the one he relied on far too much, the one he could never seem to properly show his gratitude to.

The one he wished even now would trace his tongue across cherry-stained lips and take his body for everything he had.

He took another gulp of his drink, noticing all of a sudden the number of empty glasses on the table before him. When had that happened? The only explanation was that it had been Gladio, but something in Noctis’s mind found it strange–for a man so wrapped up in duty, drinking himself to the point of excess seemed irresponsible and unlike him. He should have known that Noctis was starting to feel the haze of alcohol himself and had no one else around to protect him. So much for safeguarding the last of the line of Lucis. Bitterly, he figured Gladio must have thought it better to have no king, than a king as much a failure as Noctis.

One last sip and Noctis placed his empty glass on the table, just in time for the music to stop. He turned his attention back to the stage and saw…Ignis? How had he not noticed that it had been him up there, playing that haunting song all along? Somewhere under the weight of intoxication, Noctis's rational mind–what was left of it–screamed for attention. Ignis shouldn't be here. Ignis was...

He shifted in his chair, angling his body just enough to face Gladio. “The hell were you thinking?” Noctis asked, the beginnings of a slur in his voice masking the anger and confusion he felt.

Gladio looked taken aback. A thick eyebrow arched at the Prince in question. “What do you mean?” 

“You know exactly what I mean!” Noctis got to his feet, nearly throwing his chair back in a fit of rage. The alcohol had made him clumsy and uncoordinated, swaying as he lurched through the gushing tides that swirled around his ankles. Gladio stared after him, dumbfounded. “Why is Ignis here?”

“Noct, what are you talking about?” Gladio questioned as he got to his feet and tried to approach Noctis. 

“He's dead! So why…why is he—?!” Noctis stammered through the fog of his memory. Something wasn't right. He had seen the blood. Seen how small Ignis had looked, laying against those sheets, covered head to toe in rust-colored bandages that were the only thing holding the pieces of his body together. How he had screamed at the realization of losing him!

Taking slow, cautious steps, Gladio inched forward, trying his best to look unassuming; a feat made difficult by the nature of his physique. “Noct. Ignis is…”

“Just…go back to that fucking room and leave me here!” The order tore through his throat like a lover’s anguished wail. Maybe it was the desperation in his tone or maybe Gladio had finally reached his limit with his unruly prince, but he left in a hurry and didn't look back. Noctis wasn't sure whether to feel relief or despair as he watched his Shield's departing form.

“Everything alright?”

Noctis spun around too quickly at the sound of that voice, causing the world around him to swim with distorted colors and shapes until it finally settled on that familiar green. Ignis.

“Why are you here?” Enough of what was left of his sanity knew that something was wrong. Though confused as he was, he couldn't bring himself face Ignis with the ire he had shown Gladio. Even this illusion of him deserved whatever tenderness he could spare.

“I should ask you the same thing, Highness. You should be resting.” His eyes brimmed with concern behind his glasses. Noctis could have sworn they had broken when...when what? He remembered holding the bent frames and shattered glass in his hands, thinking if only he could have been there, if only he could have saved Ignis...

But Ignis was here and whole and handsome as ever in front of him. Somehow.

“Gladio dragged me here.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor. 

Ignis looked from the door to the table stacked with empty glasses. The look in his eyes, Noctis had seen it before, a long time ago. It was that look he wore when trying to figure out not only how to put the broken pieces of Noctis back together, but if he even should after seeing the pitiable creature in the fragments, knowing he could hold onto them and fashion him into something stronger. How could it be right of him to rebuild the miserable, wretched thing that Noctis was? Still, Ignis was never one to leave Noctis broken, for better or worse.

“Come.” Ignis offered his arm and Noctis took it, leaning his weight into the taller man’s side as they walked. He let his cheek press into Ignis’s shoulder. Just having him near was a comfort after everything they had been through. This whole journey had been one setback after another, driving them further and further from their intended goals. Somehow, Ignis had maintained a steady presence that Noctis had relied on perhaps a bit too much, more than what was good for him in any case. Now, here he was once again, letting Ignis carry his weight. Was it fair? Probably not. 

That was how he had ended up so small and wounded. So deathly pale. That couldn’t have been a dream.

Right?

A door opened in front of him, Ignis guiding him inside and sitting him down on the well-worn couch. It looked like they were in a small studio. There was a kitchen off to left of the sparsely decorated living area and a large wooden desk overflowing with papers to the right. Ignis made his way to the kitchen, filling a tea kettle with water and setting it on the stove to boil.

“Wait, you’ve been here?” Noctis questioned. 

“After the Leviathan damaged so much of the city, I knew I had to make myself useful in whatever way I could, Highness. I’m afraid I may have overestimated what I could offer.” He chuckled to himself. Though he tried to disguise it, the sound was morose under the thin veneer of false optimism.

“I’ve told you not to call me that.”

Ignis looked over his shoulder. “Pardon?”

His familiar presence was making it harder for Noctis to believe that the figure he had seen wrapped in bandages and hidden under bedsheets had been Ignis at all, yet the lingering pain of his broken heart stayed with him like a curse. Something was missing, but he couldn’t figure out why he would think so or what it could possibly be. The whine of the tea kettle pierced through his thoughts, causing his ears to ache and his head to throb. Muddy water started to leak from the cracks in the walls, but Ignis didn’t seem to notice.

“Just call me Noct. We’re not at the Citadel. Hell, Insomnia doesn’t even exist anymore. It’s gone.” He slumped forward, head hung low, forearms resting on his knees as his hands dangled uselessly in front of him. “There’s really no need for a title.”

Ignis’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “As you wish, but kingdom or not, you are still king.”

Of course Ignis would say that, but he was no king. What kind of king couldn’t protect the people he cared about? His dad had protected him, saw to it that he would rule, but it had hardly done any good in the end. How could it, when his home was in shambles and the people he loved were dead or worse? Poor Luna. Poor Ignis.

Ignis? No, Ignis was fine. He was standing in front of Noctis with a cup of tea in one hand–a soothing tonic for his weary mind–looking just as striking as ever. Maybe it was the dim light of the studio they found themselves in or the memory of seeing his fingers dance with such skill across the piano keys, or maybe it was just his eyes, which seemed so much more lush and green than they usually did. Noctis took the teacup from Ignis’s waiting hand and placed it on the table. Without warning, he threw his arms around the Advisor’s neck and pressed his hungry lips against Ignis’s soft, pliant ones, even going as far as to push his tongue past those perfect teeth, tasting that familiar taste that was so distinctly Ignis. The lingering flavor of bitter coffee was somehow sweeter today, but Noctis couldn’t find it in himself to question the subtle difference. All he knew was need.

His hands ran up Ignis's sides, underneath the silk fabric of his shirt, and back down again, snaking under belt and pants to grab at his ass. Noctis loved the fire in his skin, ever drawn to it like the fragile moth he was. It was a wonder those flames hadn't consumed him yet, left him flightless and maimed, but Ignis would never allow him to be crippled by his hand. Those flames existed only to attract the Prince, as if he needed an excuse to seek the Advisor's attention. Both him and Ignis knew that they were helpless to resist one another.

Which made his sudden resistance now...troubling.

“Highness? Noct. You really shouldn't be…” Ignis stammered, trying to fight past the haze of arousal to find the words to push Noctis back, knowing his hands would fail. 

“Please…” Noctis whined. Why didn't Ignis want him? Was he disgusted? Did he see Noctis as a failure too? Perhaps that was why he had been hiding here, trapping the weary under a spell of music and alcohol while Noctis struggled to stay awake in that damned room, plagued by incessant visions of blood and glass and muddy water. If there was anything Noctis could not abide by, it was the feeling of having failed his lover. That Ignis felt he had to escape wounded Noctis far deeper than any injury received in battle. He would show Ignis that he was still good for something after all this. He had to.

The water streaming from the cracks in the walls pooled around their ankles now, bringing with it the scent of the ocean.

One of his hands left Ignis's ass and travelled to the smooth planes of his stomach, inching further down a bit at a time until it met with the cool leather of his belt. Pressing open-mouthed kisses to Ignis's neck, Noctis fumbled with the buckle, then the button on his pants and finally the zipper, slipping his hand inside to seize his prize. 

Ignis's long fingers gripped at the hair at the nape of Noctis's neck under the sustained attentions of the Prince's mouth and hands. “Noct…you’re sure?” 

His breathy question was answered by a drag of teeth against the pulse of his neck and a rough tug on his clothed cock. Noctis's eyes twinkled mischievously at the sharp gasp that escaped the man in his arms. Pulling away for a moment to look into Ignis’s eyes, he saw not only that familiar sheen of lust, but something else that he thought had long since faded. 

He saw the vestiges of fear. 

When was the last time Ignis had looked at him like that? It must have been before they had left for Altissia, back when things had been so much less complicated. Insomnia was still in one piece. His dad was alive. Noctis still felt the promise of things to come, even if there were certain aspects of royal life he had not particularly been looking forward to. Such as it was for a prince. 

As he pushed Ignis down onto the couch–never once relinquishing his loose hold on the Advisor’s cock–Noctis remembered that final night in his apartment, alone with Ignis, after everyone else had fallen asleep in what used to be his living room. 

They had met on the porch, both of their minds filled with worry at journey ahead, both for entirely different reasons. Ignis had done what he always had–tried to reassure Noctis that everything would be taken care of and that he had nothing to fear from the coming days. Noctis on the other hand, he had taken what felt like his last opportunity to let Ignis know how he felt about him. How those green eyes had filled with such a mix of emotions at the revelation. Every fleeting thought that Noctis saw flickering across his Advisor’s face was tinged with such a tenderness and fear that it almost made him second-guess his ability to fully give himself over to Ignis in the way that Ignis already had to him. He hadn’t noticed the heart he held in his hands until now, when it became so painfully obvious after his admission. Noctis cursed his inattention and vowed to be the best he could be for Ignis going forward. There was no other option.

That fear had returned to Ignis’s eyes meant Noctis had broken his promise. 

From his seat on the floor between Ignis’s knees, Noctis felt close to weeping as his tongue flattened along the underside of Ignis’s cock. Now, he felt that he was the one laid bare, all of his flaws and failures visible to the world. It was all he could do to swallow Ignis down his throat and pray that he could still be useful to him somehow, even if it was only through the offering of his body. Soft, tawny curls tickled the tip of his nose, as he drew out a moan from the man beneath him. Those moans, flitting between the wet noises coming from his mouth and the shifting sounds of fabric gave him the smallest shred of hope that he was still wanted.

Through it all, a steady refrain consumed Noctis's mind, spoken in stolen glances and pleading fingertips.

_Please look at me._

_Please Ignis._

_Don't leave._

A pounding on the door drew both of their attentions. Noctis felt a rush of hot liquid shoot down his throat in the moment he was distracted, just barely managing to shift his gaze in time to catch a glimpse of Ignis’s knuckle trapped under the bite of teeth. With his hair starting to fall out of its carefully gelled quiff into his eyes and the dusting of pink on his cheeks, Noctis couldn’t help but admire how lovely he looked. He clambered up onto Ignis’s lap, pushing a cum-slicked tongue into the space those bloodied knuckles had occupied mere moments before. 

And then, everything came crashing down.

“Noct? What the hell, dude!?” Prompto’s voice, normally chipper, called out from the doorway. Now, it was anything but.

Hearing his best friend calling out to him was terrifying in a way it shouldn’t have been, making him cling to Ignis as if his life depended on it. Two protective arms wrapped around him, but Ignis’s expression did little to hide the fact that he didn’t understand what he was protecting Noctis from.

“How did you get in here?” Ignis questioned, his voice icy.

“It was unlocked, but really I could have just asked the barkeep for the key or had the Big Guy break it down.” His gaze softened as he focused his attention back on Noctis, who was now glaring daggers at him. “Hey, Gladio sent me to get you. C’mon buddy, let’s get you back. You don’t...you don’t want to hurt Ignis like this.” Prompto tried to ignore the other man’s unbuckled belt and open fly.

“What do you mean Prompto? Ignis is right here.” Why...how could his best friend say something like that? Noctis felt Ignis shift under him. Something about the feel of his hands on Noctis’s back was different. It was less protective, more possessive. 

Prompto bit his lower lip. “Noct...you really should come back and rest. You haven’t been the same ever since Ignis…”

“Since what Prompto?” Had he been right before? Was Ignis really was dead? But he was warm and real and very much alive right underneath him! He was even wearing that same cologne he normally wore; the one that drove Noctis to sneak pleading touches the moment his friends’ attentions were otherwise occupied. 

“He got hurt Noct! Trying to save you!” Prompto choked back a small sob. “Ignis gave up so much to bring you back to us. We couldn’t find you, but Ignis…”

Noctis suddenly felt cold. Even the fire in Ignis’s skin did nothing to warm him. Those fingers that normally traced the lines of his body with such reverence, now dug into the scar on his back, making him wince under the pressure. “Prompto...what happened to Ignis?”

“He lost his sight. He's blind Noct.”

It couldn’t possibly be. Ignis would never let that happen. There was just no way, unless...no. His mind flashed back to that room–not his own, but the one down the hall where Ignis had been recovering. Though his mind struggled to fight off the memory, he could see Ignis lying there in pieces, with bandages soaked in blood and pus covering his eyes. On the bedside table were the glasses he always wore. Noctis looked through the spidered glass, seeing the broken image of Ignis multiplied a hundred times over. It shattered him.

“He didn’t...not to save me…” The question came out as a hollow affirmation. Of all the stupid, selfless things he’d done, Noctis couldn’t bear to accept a sacrifice like that from Ignis, but what choice did he have? It was done. Ignis would never drive the Regalia or read his favorite recipes from his notebook or fight at his side again.

He would never look in Noctis’s eyes and see the love in them as their bodies joined and moved together beneath thin bedsheets, as cool nighttime breezes and moonlight caressed their skin.

Turning his attention away from Prompto and back to the man in front of him, Noctis finally saw him for who he really was, just a brunette stranger with piercing green eyes. Even now, if he let his mind slip just the smallest bit, he could still see Ignis staring back at him, an illusion conjured from regret and guilt. The only difference was that the vision of him now wore the wounds of battle. Strangely, his eyes remained untouched. 

The room started to spin. A whine escaped his lips as the memories he had tried to bury came rushing back to him, knocking him off balance and submerging him in their icy depths. Worse still was the realization that not only had Ignis sacrificed for him, but that Noctis had let himself fall into the arms of another as he sought to ease the pain of that which he had forgotten. A simple misstep, but an unforgivable one.

His stomach twisted in warning, causing him to heave and vomit the drinks he had consumed earlier onto the floor. All he saw was red. Blood. Ignis’s blood.

“Disgusting! What’s wrong with you?” The man pushed Noctis off his lap, into the puddle of alcohol and bile at his feet. Noctis didn’t attempt to move. He deserved Ignis’s scorn...no, not Ignis, just an image of him. It hardly mattered. He would take whatever punishment came his way, knowing it would never make up for what he’d done. 

Noctis paused. Where punishment would fail, perhaps atonement would succeed. For too long he had carried on like this. It was far past time to set things right. 

Prompto rushed to Noctis’s side. “Noct please, let’s just go okay?” He attempted to sling Noctis’s arm around his shoulders so that he could lift him to his feet, but was shoved away. It stung. 

“Go on ahead...I’ll catch up.” Noctis’s voice was low. It took all he had within him to begin to compose himself. Even looking into his best friend’s eyes was too much for him to bear under the weight of guilt he felt from what he had done and for what he was about to do. He hoped Prompto would understand.

The blonde got to his feet, leaving Noctis with a final squeeze of reassurance on his shoulder. “I won’t be too far ahead. Everything’s going to be okay Noct.” 

“Yeah…Later Prompto.”

Each step that Prompto took towards the door was like walking into a field of barbed wire. As pained as he felt for Noctis, he had to keep pushing forward and trust that his friend would follow soon. He couldn’t look back. 

Not even when that telltale flash of blue light painted the walls in front of him. 

Not even when he heard the sounds of metal against bone and a sharp, wet cough behind him.

 

A few hours later, Noctis made his way down the hall to the room where Ignis was still recovering from his wounds. There was no need to ask after him, he had been there before. It didn’t make knowing what lay ahead any easier. He hesitated at the door, staring at the wood grain as he listened to the churning waves coming from the other side. It was a wonder the door was holding shut at all as sea water dripped from cracks in the paneling, tinged with silt and blood.

Noctis took a deep breath and opened the door, bracing himself against the impact of the waves that never came. Ignis filled his vision, lying there under the bedsheets, still covered in bandages and bruises. Off to the side, Gladio and Prompto looked up in shock at Noctis’s arrival. The Prince looked haggard–worse than when either man had left him–and had blood spattered across his face. Were he not wearing black, they no doubt would have seen the red stains on his clothes as well. Something had clearly happened, but Noctis looked unharmed, though shaken. A wave of nausea hit Prompto at the memory of the sounds he had heard upon leaving that man’s studio. Surely, he had imagined it. Noctis would never...would he?

Taking a tentative step into the room, Noctis felt the apprehension rolling off of Gladio and Prompto, but he barely spared the effort to dissuade them. He had to get to Ignis, that was all that mattered. Noctis swallowed hard, shifting the cool cylinder he kept hidden under his jacket to get a better hold on the slippery glass, and lowered himself to sit beside his lover. 

“Noct?”

Gods, the simple utterance of his name nearly sent him to tears. The smooth, accented timbre that was Ignis's voice was now scratchy and raw, broken like the rest of him. He wasn't supposed to be awake. Hearing his voice took Noctis’s remaining composure and tossed it out the broken window, where kelp still hung and fluttered in the wind, caught between cracks in the glass.

“I’m...I’m so sorry Ignis. This is all my fault!” Everything he had held back came rushing through his lips without ceremony. “You wouldn’t be hurt like this if it weren’t for me. It’s not fair Ignis! Why...why for me?”

“A small sacrifice in the greater battle.” Ignis whispered. “Even were it not my duty to do so Noct, I would make the same choice again. I couldn’t bear to see the world without you in it.” 

Gladio and Prompto stared after their fallen friend in silence. The inevitability of sacrifice had crossed all of their minds at one point or another, but now one of them actually lived it.

“I don't deserve it Ignis! I never did, but especially not now. You don't know what I've done.” Nausea crept back into Noctis's gut as he remembered the feel of the other man's body against his. “There was someone...I didn't mean it!” Small, gasping sobs escaped him.

A white tooth peeked out and bit into a lip that was already split. It started to bleed once more. “Noct please, I'm sure whatever it is, we can get past it.”

“He didn't even stop me.” Noctis mumbled. “He let me pretend it was you.” His lower lip quivered and twisted into a smile. “Well...he did end up being good for something.” Reaching into the folds of his jacket, he pulled out the glass jar he’d kept hidden ever since he’d left that man's studio and placed it on Ignis’s chest. Gingerly, he took each of Ignis’s hands and placed them around the cool, wet surface, holding them in place. “This is for you.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against Ignis’s in a silent plea, tasting the coppery tang of blood on his tongue.

_Please look at me._

From somewhere behind him, he could hear Prompto gag and slap a hand over his mouth in horror. Gladio merely whispered his name as he rose to his feet and shuffled away from the bed. It didn't matter what they thought. They could never understand. Only Ignis mattered.

“Noct? What is this? I'm afraid I don’t…”

“Ssshhh Iggy, it’s okay. Let me take care of you for once. It won’t make up for what I’ve done…” 

And oh, the things he had done. 

“...but I hope that someday, you’ll find it in yourself to forgive me.” He caressed Ignis’s swollen cheek with his thumb.

_Just please, don’t stop looking at me._

Noctis was only half-aware of himself unsticking the bandages from Ignis’s eyes and tossing them away. He wouldn’t need those soon. With shaking hands, he unscrewed the jar and reached inside.

“They’re green, just like yours.”

Something in Ignis’s breathing changed. There was an undercurrent of fear that had not been present before. Noctis shushed him and cooed. “It’s okay. I can fix you...” A rush of giddiness swept over him. Just a little longer and Ignis would be able to drive and cook and fight again!

He would be able to look Noctis in the eyes again and see just how much he was loved, how much Noctis needed him. 

Cradling the severed eyes in his hand, Noctis pushed each one against Ignis’s mangled eye sockets and summoned all of the healing magic he could muster. Never before had he pushed himself this hard, but he would for Ignis. He had to. Ignis deserved all that and more.

Though he pulled on the Crystal’s magic with all his strength, something was wrong. Ignis was recoiling from him in horror, his flesh still marred and bloody. The room around him started to ebb and flow with the tide under the strain of the spell, despite his attempts to endure it and continue trying to heal his lover’s sight. Ignis was never supposed to have sacrificed for Noctis, not like this. He had to right that which had gone so horribly wrong; yet despite his frantic efforts, Noctis was forced to simply stare at Ignis as pinpricks of red began to ooze from his eye sockets and flow down his cheeks. It wasn’t working. 

Maybe...he had made a mistake.

Noctis reached across the invisible chasm that he had created, seeing the decomposing flesh and skeletons of guilt, shame and resentment lying far below. Their bony hands sought him, just as his sought the pallid flesh of Ignis’s cheek, knowing in his heart that he never deserved to touch him again. As the pad of his fingertip brushed Ignis’s skin, the room splintered and cracked all around him, sending wooden shrapnel piercing through his body. The tides burst through the window again, pulling him down with the current, and all Noctis could bear to think was how he selfishly wanted Ignis to be waiting down below, to ever be that soft place he landed after the fall. 

As he stared into the depths, beyond the bones and bodies, Noctis saw Ignis suspended in a cocoon of water, eyes closed in sleep. He almost looked peaceful like that; his shirt billowing around him as it sought the ocean’s surface, each strand of hair floating where it pleased without a care. 

Suddenly, Ignis's face distorted with pain as blood began to trickle out of every orifice, save for where his eyes should have been. From those empty sockets, the blood gushed and clouded the water in red, until there was nothing left in him to give to the sea. His skin rusted and flaked off his body; Noctis too terrified by what he saw to react and try to save him. In what felt like an instant, Ignis was gone. Dead. 

Noctis doubled over in pain and inconsolable grief. He had failed and lost the one person he loved most in the world. Ignis was dead...dead! And if Ignis was dead, then he should die too. What was the point in living?

He should have died when he foolishly defied the Tidemother’s wrath. Maybe then, Ignis would be alive. Maybe then...

His eyes opened. From across the room, he heard the ticking of a grandfather clock. Where had he heard that before? How long had it been? As he tried to sit up, gentle hands on his shoulders pushed him back against downy pillows. 

“Noct? Buddy, don’t try to sit up. You need to rest.” 

Prompto? Prompto was probably right. His arms and legs felt so heavy; his mind, so weary. Perhaps rest would be good after all. Noctis let his eyes close as sleep took him to a place far away from the blood and rust and water that seemed so eager to drag him down with the bones of those he had failed. Here, all he saw was green. 

 

Gladio appeared in the doorway, watching as Prompto shifted in his seat at Noctis’s bedside. Unease radiated off of him like the pull of the sea.

Violet eyes met amber. “How much longer do you think he…?”

It was all the Shield could do to shake his head and sigh.

 

From the room down the hall, a pale hand gripped the bedsheets as the knuckles somehow became impossibly whiter.

**Author's Note:**

> So, what do you think? Was it real? Was it all just a dream? I'd love to discuss your thoughts. My biggest worry is the proverbial "that's OOC!" train, but I tried to achieve what I wanted while sticking as close to character as possible.
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://iseliadragonwill.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/FallenIsel)!


End file.
